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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23965432">A samurai, a mutant and a road warrior</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExtraThiccObsession/pseuds/ExtraThiccObsession'>ExtraThiccObsession</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Mad Max Series (Movies), Samurai Jack (Cartoon), Wolverine (Comics), Wolverine (Movies), Wolverine and the X-Men - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst, Blood and Injury, Crossover, Dystopia, Friendship, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts, Temporary Character Death, Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:29:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,301</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23965432</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExtraThiccObsession/pseuds/ExtraThiccObsession</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack's quest for a time portal is never easy. After fifty years stucked in the future he is ready to give up on everything he's ever fought for. In his darkest hour, however, help finds him in the faces of two mysterious strangers. With new companions fighting by his side, will Jack be able to look past his failure and find himself again? Can he ever defeat the evil and return to his own time that he so longs for?</p><p>A different take on season 5 of Samurai Jack involving Old Man Logan and Mad Max. An AU in which all characters live in the same dystopian future ruled by the shapeshifting master of darkness that is Aku.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The father, the son and the "holy" spirit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction. I just finished chapter 8 but decide to post on here chapter 1 first to see how you like it.</p><p>Please note that English isn't my first language so there are definitely some mistakes even though I tried my best to proof read it myself.</p><p>I intend to write this to the end. However due to language difficulties I won't be able to crank out chapters as fast as I want. Enjoy chapter 1 for now! :))</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He travels day and night. Where he goes doesn't matter to him anymore. Not since he's lost his last chance of going back home and worse still, lost his sacred sword – the only mean to defeat the master of darkness Aku, the demon who destroyed and enslaved his homeland a lifetime ago. </p><p>The motor roars loud in his ears, cold wind blows against his face, tousling his hair. He finds little reason to pay attention.</p><p>50 years has passed, but he does not age. 50 years since all was lost. They are far more years than he has lived before he has fallen into this future. 50 years of nothing. Nothing but suffering.</p><p>Aku. . .</p><p>Why hasn't he shown up in years? </p><p>What has he been up to? </p><p>What is gonna happen if he finds out he has lost the sword?</p><p>The questions stay at the back of his mind in every waking moment like a constant reminder of his situation. But there's nothing he can do but to keep continuing, to keep wandering the lands to find a meaning, <em>any meaning</em> at all.</p><p>He is now a Ronin, lacking in master and purpose, wandering and drifting from place to place in the future he has no place being in, even after all his time being here. His reason to live and fight is lost and he knows it.</p><p>An unreturnable past. An unremorseful present. An unforgiving future. And no way to reverse the evil that has unleashed.</p><p>
  <em>You never came back!</em>
</p><p>The voice begins. It feels so familiar to Jack hearing that man's voice. Who is it?</p><p>
  <em>You have failed us! Everything is burning!</em>
</p><p>A vision of his father, The Emperor of Japan, appears on a falling pine leaf.</p><p>
  <em>Have you forgotten us? JACK!</em>
</p><p><em>Father.</em> "No." Jack nervously replies.</p><p>He turns, twisting away from the voices. What he sees isn't real. There is nothing. Just high mountains covered deep in snow, broken pine trees at two sides of the road and cold wind that has been following him for days.</p><p>He is alone, as he has always been.</p><p>
  <em>We need you!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Save us, son!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Why are you running?</em>
</p><p>The voice continues to follow him. Haunting and accusing.</p><p>"Leave. Me. ALONE." He yells to the mountains. He shuts his eyes, thinking of the same nothing he has until now. The same nothing he is left with. There is no one, because there is nothing. </p><p>His hands grip the brake and quickly the bike comes to a stop. His eyes scan the horizon as his breath becomes harsh. A small city is up ahead. If he can make it there before afternoon...</p><p>He twists again, turning to face the path he has rode from, the path that leads into the madness of the mountains.</p><p>But he sees not a clear path. He sees not a print his motorcycle wheels have left behind.</p><p>He sees an Omen in wait.</p><p>An Omen rides on horse, larger than life. It drapes in smoke of green and with eyes demanding retribution.</p><p>A sight so terrible and true it strikes fear into his heart, stripping his mind of any thought and doubt.</p><p>Jack only spares one second looking at the thing before turning and speeding away. Dust from the mountain road is thrown into the air as he roars down the path, running from shadows that crawl from the mountain at his side, at his back, all around him.</p><p>"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!" He screams to silence the cruel words of truth, to beat away the harsh reminder of his failure.</p><p>
  <em>You damned us all to die!</em>
</p><p>He is no samurai. He shredded his gi and threw it away long ago to save any dignity he has left. Without his katana he can't avenge anyone. There's no more honor.</p><p>He is no savior. He has left his people to die. 50 years have passed, he can't fulfill his quest. There is no more meaning to his existence. There's nothing to fight for.</p><p>He can only run from the truth that lurks behind him, from an Omen that follows the stench of his apathy and betrayal. Running, it is all he can do.</p><p>And he runs on a bike that roars like a beast of legend. He runs to civilization, hoping a bustling city can somehow help him drown his own thoughts, help him kill the time that now seems to be endless.</p><p>And so he seeks the most crowded place in this city, which seems to be a fighting ring. Alien beings, humans and mostly robots come in and out of the place relentlessly, loud and obnoxious. A few of them walk around the cramp place, serving drinks to tables. They are waiting for a fight to begin in a giant cage that takes up the center of the house. Everyone is talking at once, placing their bets on the upcoming fighters. Spits, beer cans and trash on the floor, smokes in the air and it's chaotic. Chaotic and putrid. Just like the rest of the world and that is all that's left in Aku's tyranny.</p><p>The former Samurai finds his way to a bar stool and settles down next to a wall, farthest from the fight. A blue alien comes up to him.</p><p>"May I ask, where am I?" Inquired Jack.</p><p>"Cedar City of Champions. Want something to drink?"</p><p>
  <em>Yes. I want good decent food. A cup of tea would be nice. What the heck. Let me have all for free, or I will tear you apart before you even know it.</em>
</p><p>Something dark inside him screams. Angry at him. Angry at everything. But Jack simply said: "I want tea, please."</p><p>He has been out in the wild for so long. Signs of malnourishment show on his body and face. Rats, insects, wild fruits and melted snow were all he got for days and he's getting sick of it.</p><p>"Your tea." A glass is place in front of him. Jack sighs.</p><p>"Thank you."</p><p>"And now ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, the third time champion of this year FIGHT OR DIE, the deliver of death, the dealer of pain, Rictus the destroyer!"</p><p>The crowd cheers wildly. Jack calls for another glass.</p><p>"And now, on the left, please welcome the deadliest weapon of generations, the killing machine, the Wolverine!"</p><p>The Ronin spares a look at the contenders as they are rounding up each other. He has seen countless pool fights before, even participated in them. This does bring up the memories of those times. He was turned into a chicken then, and was forced to fight robot monsters for the entertainment of strangers. Three long years of mistreatment, he must fight for his life every night only to be locked away in a cage. It was a dark period of his life that he does not wish to repeat or remember. So instead, he focuses back on the fight now happening not too far away.</p><p>The battle begins. The taller one is on the offense right away. Jack sees one of his hands turns into a fist of steel as he closes the distant in just three wide steps, spinning his mechanical fist in remarkable speed before delivering two blows to the opponent's jaw. The Wolverine falls on his back, he makes no sound then stands up again only to be knocked hard on the side of his head. After receiving a few more punches and kicks, the Wolverine falls hard against the side of the cage, a big cut on his forehead reveals the shiny metallic skull beneath.</p><p>Jack has to admit, the robots are moderner year by year. It is harder for him now to distinguish man and robot without a close interaction. They live like human and work just like human, to the point that they could be a species in this future of Aku. While Jack does not hate them – as long as they don't attack him, their presence on earth isn't welcomed either. The same for aliens and monsters. However, more often than not he finds robots the more tolerable, for they are machines – he doesn't need to hold back when he does the killing.</p><p>The wolverine takes more hits to the face again without defense. The blows make him lose his balance, and has to move a couple of steps back. However, he has only a second to regain his footing before the coming attack. Not wasting any second, Rictus jumps high into the air to land a powerful kick square on his opponent's chest with both feet. The shorter one lurches with the blow, unprepared to reduce the force of it. This time he doesn't get up. Jack has a good look at his metal skull now gruesomely exposed as long, deep gashes are inflicted on his face. Oil that looks too much like blood is coming out of his mouth and forehead.</p><p>Why isn't the Wolverine fighting back? Is this fight rigged? By the reactions of others it doesn't seem likely. Everyone is too busy shouting to notice such thing – maybe they just don't care. And the oil from these machines. It looks too much like human blood that it is uneasy to look at. Jack has destroyed enough robots to know their oil can sometimes be red and sticky. </p><p>"Use your claws!"</p><p>"Wolverine! Kill him!"</p><p>"Cut his arms off, come on!"</p><p>The crowd cheers louder as the fight gets more and more violent with every passing minute. The former Samurai looks away – this should not concern him.</p><p>The winning machine strides towards the fallen one the ground and raises his foot high. The sole of his steel foot pounds into the side of Wolverine's head repeatedly.</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>TWANG </strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>TWANG</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>Metal against metal. It's utterly loud and brutal.</p><p>But Rictus is not done.</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>TWANG</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>If the Wolverine is anything but a machine, he would be dead by now and the fight would be over.</p><p>But the fight isn't over, because he is not dead.</p><p>Not yet.</p><p>Everyone watches as the champion swings his foot into the other's stomach with enough force to send him off the ground, into the air and tumbling across the stone floor.</p><p>The Wolverine hits the cracked ground without mercy, dust blowing after him. After letting out a pained sound he gets off the ground. Getting into a crouch several feet away, Wolverine wipes the "blood" off from his mouth, however still refuses to fight back.</p><p>"Finish what you started, bub." The words are barely audible. Jack almost misses it.</p><p>What is going on?</p><p>The Wolverine's contender is walking towards him. His footsteps echo, heavy and monotone as if it were the hammer upon an anvil. One of his hands now transforms into a club.</p><p>He stands over the bloody mess that is the Wolverine.</p><p>Dark liquid flows free from his nose and ears, soaking his beard and spilling onto the cracked tile floor of the cage. Numerous open wounds and bruises are forming, red and angry from the beating, making his face unrecognizable.</p><p>The Wolverine looks pass his enemy.</p><p>The Wolverine gazes at Jack, and he gazes back.</p><p>It feels as though time slows down in that moment. Everything around Jack feels far away and surreal, except for the eyes of the man inside the cage. They see deep into Jack with such raw emotions, screaming at him, forcing him to see the long years of pain and torment that are now laid so bare in front of him.</p><p>Jack can't turn away, everything else around him forgotten. The light from above exposes every line on the man's face, manifests all of his suffering once more, as if his eyes didn't speak enough.</p><p>Of all the times spent getting to know the people of this future, Jack has never felt so emotionally related to a stranger. It is as if those eyes can speak and they are telling him a silent story that Jack himself knows all too well.</p><p>It is also in that split second that he knows. He knows the Wolverine is human.</p><p>Not a robot. Not a monster. But a human being. And he's being brutalized because he has asked for it.</p><p>What Jack saw was his bood. Not oil, water, not any of odd liquid that stains the floor and his clothes. Red, viscous blood. He realizes now too late.</p><p>A disturbed feeling worms its way into Jack's gut as he watches the man bleeding to his death.</p><p>But he's still not dead, that is impossible.</p><p>The Wolverine doesn't have a chance to stand up before his enemy aims the club right at his head. A painful cry is heard before he falls back and knocks himself on the wall behind him. His form is blocked from Jack's view by the machine now towering over him. The crowd goes wild. They know this is going to be over.</p><p>Jack doesn't need to see what is going on. The sick sound of metal beating against flesh is too loud and disturbing to even imagine anything differently. The hardened warrior feels his skin crawl.</p><p>And yet he is doing nothing, the same as he always does.</p><p><em>He cannot still be alive.</em> Jack tells himself that because he does not want to look up and see for himself.</p><p>"Kill him! KILL!" </p><p>"Fight back!"</p><p>They chant. They scream. They demand blood.</p><p>Jack grits his teeth.</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>SMACK</em>
  </b>
</p><p>"Oof!"</p><p>Yet the man is not dead. What is he?</p><p>
  <em>There is nothing you can do for him anymore. He chose death when he stepped into that cage.</em>
</p><p>His corrupted conscience manifests itself as a ghostly blue figure of his former self. His expression is anguish and worn out. Jack finds himself stunned at the sight.</p><p>"He isn't fighting back. If I don't—"</p><p>
  <em>Do you know what your problem is? You always have to poke your nose in everybody's business.</em>
</p><p>Ghost of his past self whispers to him.</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>SMACK</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>"Stand up."</p><p><em>They'd tell you a pitiful story and you just couldn't ignore it! Well, look to where it has lead us! </em>It continues to rebuke him with harsh words.</p><p>"No. They needed my help. Someone had to. There was no one else!" Jack speaks resolutely.</p><p>
  <em>Why do you always have to get involved?</em>
</p><p>"My quest ever since I set foot in this future is to destroy the demon, free the people he enslaves." The same promise he spoke to his parents. After so many years it has become meaningless and hollow to his own ears.</p><p>
  <em>Well listen to you. 50 years and you've done nothing to fix this! Admit it, your actions have lead us to failure! Soon, Aku will find you and what are you going to do?</em>
</p><p>This again. He doesn't need to be reminded of this. Not now. Not ever.</p><p>"I don't know why you keep bringing this up!" He throws his hands up in frustration, the fighting behind him now is just a background noise to his own argument.</p><p>"Aku! He destroyed the way home! There was nothing I could do!"</p><p><em>It wasn't Aku's fault that you lost the sword! </em>His inner self seeks to remind him.</p><p>Jack is speechless. His corrupted conscience continues sorrowfully.</p><p><em>When will you stop running? There is no hope</em>. It is looking right at him, eyes full of misery as it is begging him to put an end to <em>all of this.</em></p><p>Jack can't handle this – he looks away, eyes closing in silent refusal. "I won't listen to you anymore. Please leave me alone." He said quietly.</p><p>And then it all quiets down. Jack breathes hard through his nose, swallowing thickly. He is sure that eyes are on him, but he pays them no mind, for they do not matter. Nothing does.</p><p>The shadow is at his side again.</p><p><em>Whatever you say. He will be no more. </em>It says indifferently.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>He jerks his head up just in time to see Rictus has one hand around Wolverine's throat, the other aiming at his chest before it turns itself into a blade and thrusts forward.</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>GLERCH</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>The blade pierces right through Wolverine's heart.</p><p>To Jack's horror, it continues to go through the man's back. Blood spurts out in turn.</p><p>"No." Jack says to no one.</p><p>It is over.</p><p>The blade is then pulled out – it is wet and slick, unnerving to see. The Wolverine lays motionless on the ground. They are picking up his body to throw him out the back door. Blood is everywhere. Everybody is leaving, complaining about how anticlimactic the fight was. What is left now is a robot to clean up the bloody mess on the floor. And Jack, for he still remains where he is.</p><p><em>Well, that's that. Let's get out of here. </em>The apathetic bastard in him speaks.</p><p>"No, not yet."</p><p>
  <em>Why?</em>
</p><p>What if the Wolverine is not dead? He has to know. </p><p>
  <em>You saw him killed. Are you mad?</em>
</p><p>Maybe. He gets out of the front door and goes around the back. What is this unusual feeling that he's having? He isn't sure. Does it matter to him if the man is dead or not? If the man's dead, his death should not be on him, so what is he trying to prove? </p><p>For better or worse, Jack has to know.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Like it? Hate it? Share with me your thoughts!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. When I die don't bury me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Nobody knows what happened on the night the X-men fell. All we know is that they dissapeared and evil triumphed. The world has lost once more in the battle against Aku.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>What happened to the Wolverine is the biggest mystery of all. Some say they hurt him like no one ever hurt before. Others say he just grew tired of all the fighting and left.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Either way, he hasn't raised his voice or popped his claws in close to 50 years. His friends would barely recognize him now.</em>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-x-x-x-x-x-</p>
</div><p>The body before him stinks to hell. The blood that was shed has turned thick and started to dry. The man's head is a mess of hair and blood. There's a hole in his chest where the heart should be.</p><p>There is no doubt that the corpse in front of him is of a man. It's been a long time since Jack saw something as atrocious as this. Normally, they are nuts and bolts and oil.</p><p>He should feel disgusted by the sight but right now the only thing he disgusts is with himself.</p><p>He should have done something, but he didn't.</p><p>Jack has fought this war alone for far too long; it wears him down, little by little. Parts of him are broken along the way. Years of hardships and constantly being hunted have finally conquered his will, making him apathetic – numb to everything around him.</p><p>This discovery isn't exactly new, but it startles him all the same.</p><p>Sighing quietly to himself, the Ronin approaches the body slowly. He lifts the man's legs up to his hips, dragging the body towards his motorcycle, careful to not get blood on his armor. The old man is unusually heavy, making a deadweight behind Jack. Dirt and grime cake his pepper-and-salt hair, his flannel clothes, blackended by the blood that is now leaving a trail on the ground.</p><p>Jack is going to bury him. It's the only thing he can do for him now.</p><p>With great effort Jack finally gets the dead man to lay face down across the back of his motorcycle. He then turns on the ignition switch and drives out of the city.</p><p>After few long minutes he gets to a forest border of tall dark trees. Things appear to be nice and quiet save for a singing wild bird somewhere above the tree line. </p><p>Jack kills the engine, reaches for his equipment belt to pull out a short bo staff. With some twisting he extends it to a full three meters in length. He presses a button on one side and sharp adamantium plated spears spring out at one end like a trident. One more button to make the trident thing spin rapidly, like a drill. It is nothing like a shovel but it will have to do. Leaving his helmet at his bike, Jack sets to work.</p><p>By the time he finishes digging, the sun is already coming down. He's hoping to return to the city before it gets dark completely. Rubbing his hands on his trouser legs to get rid of dirt, he turns to his bike. As soon as he reaches for the body Jack hears a faint guttural noise. Startled, he jumps back, hand immediately seeking the gun that is always in his chest holster. He watches the body for a reaction...</p><p>"Hrrn..."</p><p>There it is again. It is weak, but he can hear it clearer than before. His eyes widen in realization.</p><p>The corpse is coming back alive.</p><p>
  <em>What sorcery is this?</em>
</p><p>To confirm his suspicion he steps a little closer to the body with extra care, looking for a movement. Indeed there is a subtle rise and fall of the man back, indicating that he is breathing. Jack stares with bewilderment.</p><p>
  <em>I saw him dead just before. There's literally a hole in his chest.</em>
</p><p>Curiosity takes over him. Leaning in close, he peers into the wound on the other's back where the blade went through, suddenly being conscious of his breathing.</p><p>The man's back is all covered in blood, but the blood has dried and actually stopped dripping from the wound. Jack can't see the hole where the blade went through, instead he sees red muscle and tendons exposed and they are moving ever so slow. He cannot believe this. The tissues are stitching itself back together, nastily filling up the gap where the cut had been.</p><p>The body is healing itself. There's a thrill of incredulity mixed with nausea and fascination.</p><p>
  <em>Not possible.</em>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-x-x-x-x-x-</p>
</div><p><em>Then:</em> </p><p>
  <em>His vision turned red as blind rage took over him. White, hot pain did nothing to him now except to fuel his adrenaline. The Wolverine was ready to kill, ready to fight his way out, and anyone that got in his way wouldn't last long enough to do more than scream.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Everything happened in a blur. Claws slashing and hacking, he killed them all until he was the only one left standing.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Little did he know the battle was all in his mind. They had tricked him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Only when the fight was over did it start to register. The rational part of him woke up from the furious rage to smell a sea of blood – blood of the people that he knows. His friends, the X-men.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He only saw their faces then. Cracked and bleeding, crying and screaming. They laid on the floor, beneath his feet, in his arms. He could smell their pain, their death, their blood because he was bathed all in them.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The Wolverine had murdered them all, he had stabbed everyone right through the heart. Their blood tasted like bile on his tongue. It ran down his face, got into his eyes but he couldn't even react over the tremendous shock.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Just like that the bad guys won. They broke the Wolverine so bad and it's the only reason he's still alive.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But the Wolverine has to die to pay the price for what he'd done. Every year from then on Logan made a promise to himself to kill the Wolverine dead. He could not die, not with his healing power but he could feel the pain, and sometimes that's enough.</em>
</p><p>Now:</p><p>A fly buzzes by Logan's ear making him twitch, he shakes his head slightly.</p><p>Damn, his head hurts. Feels like it's been filled with cotton – or maybe his brain has turned to mush from all the beating. His bones are a dull ache. His face is wet and sticky – where the blood was coming from, he isn't sure.</p><p>Logan bites down on a groan, choking it off and swallowing it as he clutches a hand to his chest. He can feel his flesh and nerves burning as they are crawling back together around his unbreakable bones.</p><p>He's still healing, but slowly. Blood blinds his right eye, streaming down from a cut that has already healed on his forehead. His throat feels dry and clogged with blood, the taste of copper in his mouth makes him want to gag.</p><p>Logan tries to get up but his feet aren't touching the ground. Dizziness takes over him, making the ground beneath him spin. It takes him a couple of seconds to realize that he isn't actually falling. In fact he is lying on some sort of vehicle, face facing the ground, feet dangling on the other side of it.</p><p>Dammit. Where the hell is he?</p><p>Getting to his feet, he focuses his senses back on his surroundings. His nose picks up a scent of someone behind him drawing closer, and Logan turns sharply to face them, feet swaying a little.</p><p>"Hold it bub." His voice like gravel, making the words sound more like a snarl.</p><p>Logan blinks rapidly, trying to get the blood out of his eye. The stranger in front of him has a slight grimace on his face, staring at him as if he has grown another head. He is wearing some kind of self-made armor which Logan supposes to resemble an ancient samurai armor. Even his face looks Japanese behind all that long black hair and beard. Logan feels scrutinized because the man just stands there, looking at his every movement, trying to gauge the expression on Logan's face.</p><p>Logan can't blame him though, the man literally saw him died just minutes ago. He must've looked like a wreck.</p><p>"Guess it's something you don't see everyday huh?" Though Logan supposes he can say the same for himself, cause it's not everyday he gets to meet some whacko dressed in a samurai suit. He turns his head to spit out a mouthful of stale blood on the ground next to him. </p><p>"Are you, uh, alright?" Japanese man spoke. He sounded young. Can't be older than 30, Logan reckons. It's just that all that hair and beard make him look more mature. His voice carries a light accent that sounds strange to Logan's ears but oddly nice all the same.</p><p>"I'll live." He spits again. <em>Cripes</em>, his breath stinks like hell. His chest is almost healed by now, but his mouth still tastes like blood. Must've broken a couple of his teeth.</p><p>The kid has lowered his gun but his scent spikes up like he's on edge – he doesn't seem scared or intimidated though. Logan flicks his gaze over the strange-looking motorcycle, then over a big hole the other has clearly dug in preparation for burying him. </p><p>If Logan hadn't woken up before then... <em>Heh.</em> He finds the thought darkly amusing.</p><p>"I appreciate your concern, but I ain't dyin' that easily." He gestures to the hole behind the stranger.</p><p>"What happened back there?" </p><p>"What did it look like to you? 's none of your business, kid." Logan sees no need to explain why he got himself killed. He grits his teeth, but then immediately stops at the shot of agony down his jaw. Dammit. Teeth are the worst to regrow.</p><p>The other man looks taken back by his words – is it because of his bluntness or being called a kid, he isn't sure. Either way, he doesn't care.</p><p>"Don't follow me." Logan clears his throat and spits again. What he would give for a beer to wash down the taste of blood right now. He turns on his heels and staggers away.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The lines at the beginning are taken from Old Man Logan Comic #5. I just made a small alteration to them. If you read the comic, you would know =))</p><p>Kudos, comments, bookmarks and hits are more than welcome! Stay tuned for more!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. An old ally</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's early in the morning; Logan is outside in his garden, digging trends in the ground for a new planting season. He puts sprouted potatoes into the dirt and fills the trends in. With his gloved hands he evens out the surface, then fetches a garden hose to water the soil.</p><p>After the task is done, he goes inside and settles down on a wooden chair. The chair creaks slightly under his weight. Logan rubs his head. He can't remember the last time he had a headache – but this one feels like it has moved in to stay. It must be telling him that he's getting old.</p><p>He was searching for a cigarette pack inside his pocket when he notices his answering machine bleeping. It looks like he's missed two calls, both from Donovan. The first one was 3 days ago, when he was in Cedar City. He presses a button to play back the messages.</p><p>
  <i>It's me, old Donovan. I drove by this morning to pick up some green but you weren't home. So when you are let me know. I will come by for my stuff. Beep.</i>
</p><p>The former X-men leans back in his chair, aching down to his bones and feeling as old as he ever could remember. His tank top is drenched in sweat. Raising his arm up to wipe away the sweat on his forehead, he listens as the machine automatically plays the newest massage.</p><p>
  <i>I don't know if ya got my previous message, ya haven't called back. Listen, Sarah's making pecan pie, we hope you would come. So uh... if you do, take some of your harvest for me, yeah? Green beans and tomatoes. We're really short on those. Ever since those damned Annunaki came we haven't had much land for plantation like used to. I will pay you extra for transportation. Beep.</i>
</p><p>It seems like he won't be home before noon. Rising up from his chair Logan reaches for his flannel shirt hanging on the wall and goes outside. He carries with him a sack of tomatoes and two sack of green beans to his car and loads them in the back seat. He then goes back in for his hat and car key before locking the front door. After mentally checking everything, Logan is ready to be on his way.</p><p>After passing plains and fields he makes it to Reno City, home of the Annunaki. Donovan's just beyond the city. The Annunaki are big and hairy creatures, not very aggressive but they are extremely protective of their properties. They settled on earth decades ago after their arrival was approved by lord Aku. Said they prefer Earth's technology, but it's obvious to Logan that they are just another of Aku's worshipers. Over the years, they've enlarged in numbers and have taken up plenty of lands for living space. Logan predicts that soon enough they will become his neighbors.</p><p>With a grimace, the old mutant decides to make a detour around the city to avoid any unwanted conflicts.</p><p>Suddenly his car stops, a bright blue light appears and wraps him in. Logan feels like his skin is being stretched too far; a prickling pain runs through his body as he's breaking into billions pieces. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. For a second too long it feels like he's being dissolved into thin air.</p><p>
  <i>What the blazes!</i>
</p><p>
  <i>!!</i>
</p><p>Everything snaps back into place. He can fill his lungs with air again, feel the force of his hands clutching tight at the steering wheel, but everything is too bright it's hurting his eyes. The pins and needles are gone, instead a strong sense of vertigo fills his head. Amidst the sensations Logan realizes he just teleported.</p><p>
  <i>What's happening?</i>
</p><p>Just as he is about to get out of the car a female voice from behind him speaks.</p><p>"Good morning, Logan. I hope you'll forgive me for this sudden meeting."</p><p>He knows this voice. He knows this scent.</p><p>"Emma?" It cannot be. Logan turns around.</p><p>There she is, the White Queen, as young and elegant as ever. She is donning a long white dress just like he remembers. Even her hair, the color of her lipstick and the way she carries herself are exactly what he has in his memory. Everything about her is beautiful, just like the way things <i>used to be.</i></p><p>"I bid you welcome to the forbidden headquarter." Emma turns her gaze to the cargo he brings with. "You're a farmer now Logan? Living an honest life, I see." She comments, giving him a small smile then begins to walk inside.</p><p>"How come are you still so young?" His dizziness soon forgotten, replaced with confusion.</p><p>Emma turns her head slightly to regard his presence. "I'm the most powerful psychic in the world, Logan. You see what I want you to see. Even this place isn't quite as pretty as it looks."</p><p>"Come with me." She motions him to follow.</p><p>Logan is walking inside a giant glass dome. White giant pillars that seem to stretch for meters are propping up the roof of the distinct structure, standing in constrast of grey blue skies outside. Emma is walking ahead of him, looking as majestic as a queen. Everything about this place smells nice and clean, making Logan wonder just how much of this is real.</p><p>"Where are we anyway?" So many questions he has, but can't ask all at once.</p><p>"This is my hide-out. Safe from Aku's eyes and his minions. This place is only welcomed to mutants. That is to say if there's anyone of us left at all."</p><p>She pours for herself a glass of champagne but hands Logan a couple of beers. He doesn't say thank but his gaze is meaningful.</p><p>"Since Xavier died, I continue to use the Cerebro to locate mutants and to keep track of our population. We're not the next stage in human evolution, not anymore, Logan. There are twenty of us now and not a single mutant born in close to 30 years."</p><p><i>Charles Xavier's dream is dead, we have lost.</i> She doesn't say it, but Logan knows.</p><p>"Ever since the fall of the X-men the mutant race has greatly weakened. Adding to this is the fact that Aku has scientists built the Sentinel to hunt us down, fearing that our powers could some day be a threat to his reign."</p><p>And part of their demise was Logan's fault. He certainly had a hand in making the mutant go down in destruction.</p><p>"And he is right to fear us. What if I say there's someone with a power that can change what happened?" Emma is watching him, implying something.</p><p>"What do ya mean?" He asked, suddenly holds in a breath.</p><p>"The reason why I brought you here, Logan, is to look for a mutant girl, 14 years old. Two days ago her power manifested near Lansing village. It appears she can open a portal through space and time. While we do not know what time she could take us to – the past or the future, it's important that we find her before anyone does." The telepath turns on a computer to show him a little girl with brown hair and eyes.</p><p>"Are you suggesting that we could prevent the X-men's death by going back in time?" Logan said, voice full of hope.</p><p>"That's one possibility. But even with the X-men back we couldn't be sure that the mutant race wouldn't suffer the same fate. The robots would still hunt us down and Aku would still be the threat to our existence."</p><p>Aku, the shape-shifting master of darkness, the Shogun of Sorrow. A demonic entity that has ruled the earth since forever. Long before the first mutant was born, his evil is law. To speak of opposing him is daring and dangerous, and it is what they're doing right now.</p><p>"The evil wizard can't be destroyed, Emma, if that's what ya want to tell me. We tried, or don't you remember? My adamantium claws couldn't even hurt him. Going back ta the past ain't gonna change the score." </p><p>Logan is skeptical of this. Call him a pessimistic bastard, but he doesn't think going back in time for a rematch with the creature who is as powerful as God would turn out any different. </p><p>"You are right, we can't win against Aku's magic. The demon is invincible. But do you know that there's only one man out there who holds the key to Aku's destruction, Logan? And he doesn't even possess any power."</p><p>Emma shows him a picture of a young samurai warrior dressing in white rope. He looks clean-cut, long jet black hair is tied into a chonmage on top of his head. Determination is shown on his handsome face as he wields a katana to fight off the bettle drones surrounding him. By the way the samurai carries himself Logan can tell he's a noble man.</p><p>"That katana of his – that's the only thing in this world that can hurt Aku." Emma continues. "The Triseraquins once saw it first hand what the samurai's sword could do to the demon. According to them, Aku was almost defeated by the blade but got away at the last second."</p><p>Logan remains silent, eyes still fixed on the screen. He recognizes that unmistakable face. This is the same man he met three days ago in the woods. It's crazy how different he looks now but Logan can not be mistaken.</p><p>"You won't believe this, Emma. This kid you're talkin' about, I just met him days ago. You say his sword can hurt the demon, how?"</p><p>"The Triseraquins said it's enchanted, it can only harm evil." Emma turns to him, continuing.</p><p>"It is said that the samurai does not belong in this future, Logan. It should be obvious to you that he's from feudal Japan. Aku casted him here after a battle between them from long ago that almost killed the demon. What we need to do is take him back to that point in time so he can finish killing the demon." </p><p>"You believe in all this?" Logan frowns.</p><p>"Remember I can read people's minds."</p><p>"Then you know that I'm retired. I don't do this anymore, I'm done fightin'." He looks at her, eyes serious.</p><p>"Relax, Logan. All I'm asking is you find the mutant girl and send the samurai warrior back in time. You can't travel back yourself even if you want to. It would cause time paradox, a very dangerous thing because you never belong in the past. Only the samurai does." The female telepath warns.</p><p>"What's his name anyway?" He asks with a nod of his chin towards the screen.</p><p>"People call him Jack. Samurai Jack. If he succeeds in killing Aku he will end the future before it even begins. A lot of things will be changed for the better, I believe. So, will you do it?" Emma asks him again, one delicate eyebrow slightly raised.</p><p>Will he do it? Does he want to fix everything right again? Changing the past means changing everything now. Will getting rid of Aku bring the X-men back or will it erase the mutants from the face of the earth? – there will be no more X-men, no more him. </p><p>Only one thing remains true: this might be his only chance at redemption. </p><p>And he would do anything to have it.</p><p>"You are the mind-reader," is all he said.</p><p>"Then you must hurry." She gives him a half-smile. "The samurai is last seen traveling west. You better go."</p><p>The former hero regards her for a few seconds before turning back to the way he came. Just as he puts on his hat getting ready to go Emma calls for him.</p><p>"Logan?"</p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>"I hope you find the peace you always crave."</p><p>"Thanks, Emma."</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"This chapter is purely about plot explaining!", I know, I know. It wasn't fun for me to write either but unfortunately, I just suck. But! The next chapter will introduce the main character from the last remaining fandom that I mentioned in the summary. Thing will get interesting from there, I promise.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. A simple plan: Survive</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His mind is awake, but his body is not. Something has weighted him down, burying him in it, but his body is too numb and tired to feel. He's faintly aware of a liquid-like substance that covers up his face, yet he is not drowning.</p><p>Everything is eerily quiet except for the sound of the earth quaking and rumbling beneath him. He listens. The rumbling sounds so far away. It suggests that the colossal sandstorm has passed.</p><p>And it has taken everything away with it – the chase, the explosions, the War Boys, the madness – all except for him. He is alive. He breathes in air for confirmation.</p><p>Sand! It gets into his nose, choking him easily. He coughs and more sand gets into his mouth. It burns his eyes with it. Panic spreads in his gut.</p><p>
  <em>Too much sand!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Can't breathe!</em>
</p><p>He rises hastily from the ground, making sand to fall from him like water. </p><p>
  <em>The interceptor. A motorcycle gang.</em>
</p><p>Disoriented, he tries to gain his footing but with every step his foot sinks into the sand.</p><p>
  <em>A woman running with a baby in her arms. They both went under the wheels.</em>
</p><p>He breathes through his mouth, air too hot and dry it feels like it is rubbing against his parched tongue like sandpaper. He rubs at his eyes, squinting at the bright sunlight that seems to come in every direction.</p><p>He is Max.</p><p>And he's standing in the middle of the desert.</p><p>A fucking metal muzzle is strapped onto his face, digging into his skin. He claws at it, tracing it to the back of his skull where an IV line and a long chain are intertwined, with the chain attached to the muzzle. He briskly grabs at the needle and yanks it out quickly from his neck, as if it was a snake injecting venom into him. Hands grasping one end of the chain, he yanks the rest out of the sand and traces it back to where it was linked to an unconscious War Boy's wrist. </p><p>They captured him, stole his car. They forced him to labour, made him build monuments of Aku. And when they were done draining all his strength, they strung him up to drain his blood as though he's a fucking blood bag.</p><p>Max grips the metal trapping the boy's wrist angrily, two hands clutching tight at it, trying to force it apart. But the handcuff just doesn't budge.</p><p>He shakes it violently in frustration. </p><p>
  <em>The damned thing won't break!</em>
</p><p>But then something catches at the corner of his eyes, where his vision isn't blocked by the fucking muzzle – a sawed-off shotgun. He gladly picks it up to check if it still works. He checks the barrels. <em>Two shots.</em> He presses it at the boy's wrist, ready to blow his hand off but then stops.</p><p>Max gives the War Boy a once-over. A soft rise and fall of his chest tells Max he is still alive – a lucky bastard, like him. If he shots his arm off now, the man would be sure as dead.</p><p>But this boy isn't evil, or at least he isn't entirely corrupted by evil. Killing him for any unjustified reason would be <em>inhumane</em> of him.</p><p>So instead he pulls the chain taut, his right hand aims the muzzle of the gun at the chain part near his head and pulls the trigger.</p><p>The sound of broken steel is sharp, but it is nothing compared to the loud explosion that leaves his eardrums ringing. So loud that he can't tell if the echoes he's hearing is the result of his damaged eardrums or it is actually from the gunshot. </p><p>"Hrrn."</p><p>Maybe he should not have done that.</p><p>Max searches through the wreckage for usable things. He finds two gun shells and loads one into the chamber. Now his gun is fully loaded but there's only one slug to spare. Disappointed, he decides to loot the War Boy of his boots and puts them on his own feet. </p><p>Max walks through the wasteland alone. Only now is he aware of all the injuries he has sustained after having survived the crash. From the cut on his arm to the throbbing deep inside his head, he feels everything to the fullest. His muscles are sore and aching all over. Max's sure that he has a cracked rib and his back is all black and blue from impacts. A big lump on his forehead is hot and sensitive to touch, however he's just glad that he doesn't suffer a concussion.</p><p>He forces his legs to walk in a straight line but finds it hard to do. Days of being held captive has weaken him greatly. He's hungry; the last time he had eaten something was yesterday. Though right now it isn't Max's biggest concern – to be dehydrated under the heat like this is dangerous, and it's been too long since he had a drop of water. If he continues like this, he'll die of dehydration before he can even get rid of the fucking muzzle to eat.</p><p>He needs to find a vehicle. He needs to find a source of water. Whichever comes first is good.</p><p>Time seems to stretch. Max counts his footsteps to keep himself sane, and to measure how far he's gone. 2500 steps. That's almost two kilometers that he has covered, still no end in sight. It also means 25 minutes has passed since he left the wreckage in his exhausted state. Max puts his shirt over his head in an attempt to create some kind of shade. He forces his legs forward, one after the other – he must survive, whatever the cost may be.</p><p>What is his name?</p><p>Max. It may matter not to anyone, but it is everything to him. As long as he has a name, he still has a meaning in this world.</p><p>Never have a few minutes seemed like an eternity. He feels his consciousness ebbing away, and as clear as it was a few moments ago, it is coming to an end. His eyes grow heavy from fatigue, his skin is burning with fever and his heart is beating rapidly in his chest. But he can't give himself away to exhaustion. He would be dead to the world before his body even hits the hot sand.</p><p>A faint rumbling noise coming from the East catches Max's attention. He hears it getting louder and louder. There is a car coming fast his way. Keeping a tight grip on his gun, Max starts walking towards the noise, suddenly gaining strength.</p><p>The car gets closer to reveal a lone man driving it. He doesn't look very friendly.</p><p>Max makes sure to stand in the way of the coming car. When the man slows his vehicle down, Max raises his gun.</p><p>A man appears to be in his sixty steps out, wearing old-fashioned clothes and a cowboy hat. He looks tough. But he can't be too tough for an old man, Max believes. This should be easy.</p><p>"If—take—car, that's not—happen bub." </p><p>The man said something, but Max just can't make it out – his ears are buzzing from tiredness, his eyes are blurred, he has to squint to see anything. </p><p>Max only knows the man isn't armed. It means he still has the upper hand.</p><p>"Wha—fuck—to yer face?—scape the sandstorm?"</p><p>
  <em>What?</em>
</p><p>"I can give you a ride outta here. No need for gun." He speaks louder.</p><p>Max believes him not for a second. He takes a step forward and almost falling on his face. Damn. He must have looked like a drunk. He tries his hardest to prop himself up right in order to look intimidating, while shaking his gun side to side as a signal to the other man to step away from the car.</p><p>Unfortunately for him, the old man remains where he was as if to challenge him back. </p><p>"Hurgh." Max grunts, pressing the gun closer to the other's face. A wave of dizziness takes over him but he does not let it show.</p><p>
  <em>Gotta stay up, stare them down. Hide the weakness.</em>
</p><p>Despite his words he can feel his hands shaking. He knows he cannot run from exhaustion any longer – he's going to faint soon.</p><p>"Hey..." The short man takes a step closer while holding his hands up in an attempt for peace making. This takes Max by suprise, he didn't think the man would dare to get close.</p><p>"Take it easy—..." the stranger continues to go towards him. Max has to hold his ground, if he takes a step back, it would mean weakness. He can't afford to show any weakness. Not now.</p><p>His finger lingers on the trigger, ready to squeeze at any moment.</p><p>
  <em>Stay back!</em>
</p><p>"I don't want trouble, and I bet ya don't either." The man's voice is calm, however he's slowly reaching for the gun in Max's shaking hands.</p><p>The heat. The wounds. The fever. The dizziness. The starvation. Everything makes his nerves strained on end, pushing his body to its absolute limit.</p><p>
  <em>I'll shoot!</em>
</p><p>Darkness threatens at the edge of his vision. He can't continue any longer.</p><p>The old man takes hold of the gun barrel right before Max tries anything. His body goes into fight or flight mode and he shoots.</p><p>The bullet grazes the man's hip, causing him to yell out before snatching the shotgun out of Max's hand. At this point, Max is too tired to fight back. </p><p>He only has time to see the red seeping through the man's shirt before received an unseen blow to the head. It wasn't hard – more likely out of anger but it was enough to knock Max off his feet. Darkness consumes him.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-x-x-x-x-x- </p>
</div>The foolish bastard shot him!<p>Logan glares at the man that has gone out cold before him. Bringing a hand to his hip, he tries to feel around the wound. Blood is seeping through both layers of his shirts, soaking his fingers warm and red. He scowls, but it isn't from pain as much as it is from annoyance.</p><p>Thank god the bullet isn't lodged in his body or else this would have been messy – he would have a hard time digging it out in order to heal right.</p><p>While Logan will recover fairly quick from this, he can't say the same for the one who attacked him, which is ironic.</p><p>The man was ready to shoot, he could smell it on him – the agitation, the desperation. This was bound to happen. </p><p>Logan grumbles about his now dirtied, tore shirt and jeans, realizing he's actually more angry about this than being shot at. </p><p>He confiscates the gun. After a few seconds trying to ignore the pain from the bleeding wound, he gets back into the driver seat getting ready to go. But as soon as his foot touches the gas pedal Logan stops. Looking outside the window, his eyes go to the man still lying motionless on the ground.</p><p>"Bloody hell." He said aloud.</p><p>Getting out, he swings the door to the back seat open and proceeds to haul the other man into the car. He doesn't want to take the guy along, as it would very well mean trouble, but he doesn't want to leave him out here to die either.</p><p>He should be at home right now, tending his garden—the thought fleets through Logan's mind, but he quickly dismisses it.<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Of nuts and bolts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Picking another squirrel off the ground where a trap was set, he pats the dust off from its fur before leaving for his motorcycle. There, he ties its tail to a rope. With one squirrel at each end of the rope, he lets it hang over the sides of his vehicle, right in front of his seat.<br/>
<br/>
Jack pauses, looking around and enjoying one last breath of the air there.<br/>
<br/>
He mounts the bike and drives off. He doesn't look back.<br/>
<br/>
The morning air is fresh and chilly. Beads of dew stand out on his armor and on the windscreen. They linger on his face, cool his skin, making his hands a bit rigid on the handle bars.<br/>
<br/>
His bike roars down the road, breaking the silence of the morning. Wind sweeps his hair from his face, pulling at him. The first glimmer of the sun turns the eastern clouds golden.<br/>
<br/>
The sun is rising later than usual. Summer is ending, fall beginning. The air is growing cooler, and though the trees are still full with green leaves of summer, he can feel the coming change. The leaves would be turning soon, drying up, falling.<br/>
<br/>
Jack blurs past forest and pasture. He is running along a river when his stomach gives an audible growl.<br/>
<br/>
He will ignore it for now – he doesn't feel like eating. He has food, and it isn't like he's in a hurry. He has all the time in the world to kill.<br/>
<br/>
He has nowhere to be. Why should he care if he waste an hour, a day, a year? Time has lost its effect on him. It<span>'s not</span> like he is wasting his life away.<br/>
<br/>
A rustling noise comes from behind him. He whips his head around, but sees nothing.<br/>
<br/>
Probably just some animal in the bush. A deer, or a rabbit.<br/>
<br/>
No threat.<br/>
<br/>
<em>10 meters back. He can be on them in three seconds. They may take four shots – two from each gun, if they carry one for each hand. He will dodge, but it will slow him down a hair. Two seconds, maybe. No time for them to call for back up. Three more seconds to get out of there without alerting </em><span><em>the</em></span><em> local.</em><br/>
<br/>
He glances back at the bushes, at the tree line above.<br/>
<br/>
No. No threat.<br/>
<br/>
Still, he accelerates.<br/>
<br/>
It must be his imagination that puts him on edge. Nothing is behind him. If there was, he would know. Still, he feels like if he turns fast enough he would find...<br/>
<br/>
A bounty hunter? An assassin? No – assassins never have frightened him, never will. They did bring him troubles before, but they aren't things he can't handle. Bounty hunters are nothing new – he can take them even in his sleep. This is something different. Something far worse. A nightmare, walking in his shadow.<br/>
<br/>
An ominous figure of green. It would find him when he least expects <span>it</span> – to remind him the sins of his past, his guilt, his loss of purpose. Just <span>the</span> mere sight of it would turn his blood to ice, as it stares at him with those haunting eyes, calling to him in silence, offering him a way to end his grief.<br/>
<br/>
It would wait forever, just out of sight. Haunting, invisible, faceless. He can never hope to outrun it, he can only hope to buy himself time before it catches up with him again, forcing him to face the consequences of his failure.<br/>
<br/>
Jack shakes his head, grinding a palm into his tired eyes.<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't want to think.<br/>
<br/>
Feels like he's breathing through a straw— like someone is sitting on his chest, not letting him breathe.<br/>
<br/>
He frowns at the road ahead. As he takes a turn to the left, that part of his mind comes back, for he sees the rotten faces of his people on the rocks, calling upon him for help.<br/>
<br/>
"Please. No more. Please." He begs.<br/>
<br/>
He is going freaking crazy. Paranoid, even for him.<br/>
<br/>
Jack puts his face in his hand, trying to fight back the hallucinations. This is the fourth times this week and they just keep getting more and more <span>burden</span>some on his mind.<br/>
<br/>
He has killed them, hasn't he? Forsook them all to die.<br/>
<br/>
His people. Men, women, children, even. Dead eyes watching him, waiting for him to join them. They groan and scream in agony. Waiting to catch him with decayed fingers, digging, tearing, ripping...<br/>
<br/>
He hates it – they just can't leave him alone, can't they? <span>Even in death.</span><br/>
<br/>
<span>It makes</span> him feel cornered, somehow. Cornered with nowhere to run.<br/>
<br/>
Running...<br/>
<br/>
What is the point of it at all?<br/>
<br/>
<em>So tired. . . . .tired of running. . . . . .sick and tired.</em><br/>
<br/>
He wants it to <em>end</em>. Wouldn't it be great to be free of all of this?</p><p><br/>
Is this all a dream? One big nightmare, tying together day after day after day after day...</p><p><br/>
When he wakes up, will things get back to normal? His parents will be alive because he <em>never failed</em> them, everything he knows will still be there because he <em>never left</em>?<br/>
<br/>
He lets out a choked laugh.<br/>
<br/>
He is losing it.<br/>
<br/>
Finally, truly—he is snapping.<br/>
<br/>
<em>Is there no end to this madness? No hope? No way out? Honor no longer matters here. Actually, there is always the option of...</em><br/>
<br/>
<em><b>Boom!</b></em><br/>
<br/>
The former Samurai's disturbing thoughts are abruptly ended by an explosion right next to him. The force sends him off his bike, flying several feet into the air and landing hard on the ground with a <em>thud</em>. His helmet is knocked off from his head, lying a good distance from him, forgotten. The gas tank ignited and blows from the crash sending debris into the air. Bits and pieces of his motorcycle as well as the weapons that stored on his bike scatter all over.<br/>
<br/>
Jack's adrenaline rises as his focus comes to. Getting quickly to his feet, he rushes to gather his weapons as well as looking for the source of the attack. After checking the his holster for the pistol, he goes to collect his staff first, activating it.<br/>
<br/>
It's clear right away who was the attacker: a gigantic robot of three stories tall walking to his right, holding out hands to blast beams of destruction.<br/>
<br/>
The robot stands out against the green environment due to its purple and blue armor clad, its lifeless yellow eyes programmed only to seek and destroy. The hum of the motor and the pounding of two heavy mechanical legs disturb the serenity of the wilderness.<br/>
<br/>
The warrior is ready to dodge the next blow coming his way, however, the mechanical hunter has his attention on something afar.<br/>
<br/>
It is in pursuit of two human sisters. They are running quite far ahead in an effort to outrun the energy beams; fear is written across their face as they hold each other's hand, afraid to be separated.<br/>
<br/>
The giant machine opens its palm to aim at its targets. "TARGETS LOCKED. EXTERMINATE." Yellow eyes turn red. An intense ringing sound is heard, which indicates a shot is about to be fired.<br/>
<br/>
In one fluid motion, Jack draws his handgun out of the chest holster, pulls off the safety and raises it into a firing position.<br/>
<br/>
<em><b>BAM!</b></em><br/>
<br/>
The bullet hits and pierces through the metal hand, creating a see-through hole. Even though it cannot stop the energy ray, the force of the bullet was enough for the robot to fire off the mark. The ground trembles from the blast, dirt is pushed away, sending dust and leaves into the air. The siblings scream in panic.<br/>
<br/>
The robot turns its head to determine the source of trouble. This time it sees Jack, for it raises a hand towards him, ready to blast.<br/>
<br/>
The veteran rolls out of the way as soon as he sees the hand repulsor light up brightly. The giant robot misses again.<br/>
<br/>
Rolling onto his side, Jack spots his gatling gun lying in the distance but decides to leave it there for now – this is going to be a close-quarters fight.<br/>
<br/>
Readying the trident, he thrusts it into the heel of the moving robot, stopping it completely in its track. With a twist, he shreds its insides, tearing apart wires and inner plates, the leg now permanently disabled, frozen in place as its insides are exposed and ruined.<br/>
<br/>
Jack yanks the weapon out, confident that the robot will be rendered useless once he destroys its other leg.<br/>
<br/>
Unforseen to him, the mechanical beast activates all repulsors from its arms and one leg, creating massive thrust forces. On its back four big flaps are extended. It is getting to take off, determines to go after the preys who are now getting away.<br/>
<br/>
Realizing what is happening, the former Samurai warrior retracts his staff to pull out both his hunting knives from their sheaths.<br/>
<br/>
"No." He asserts out loud to the giant monster. "There is no escape..."<br/>
<br/>
Taking a powerful leap from his position, Jack jumps as far as he can to reach the robot's waist and stab his knives through the metal, hanging himself there. Now airborne with the robot, he can't risk making another jump. No matter – he will climb the rest of the way to the robot's head, where its CPU must lie within.<br/>
<br/>
Pressing his body flush against the cold metal, the hunter of the mechanical beast climbs his way up using his sharp blades for anchoring. Strong wind blows against him, fast enough for his beard to whip. He's tempted to look down to see how far he is from the ground, but then decides against it, because his head is whirling already.<br/>
<br/>
A label is embossed on the back of the machine's neck, Jack notices. It reads: "THE SENTINEL. Manufacturer: Stan Lee. Since 2060."<br/>
<br/>
So this is their latest model. Another creation to kill him off.<br/>
<br/>
<em>No chance.</em><br/>
<br/>
The robot has found the young siblings and is ready to attack. Feeling the rumble of engine and the sudden drop in altitude, Jack knows it is landing. He must make haste.<br/>
<br/>
Producing his trident again, the seasoned warrior takes the robot from behind, shoving his weapon all the way into its head as the blades pierce through its eye. The robot gives out a loud rattling sound, it is struggling but still active. With a grunt, Jack yanks his retractable weapon free and its inner pipes burst open, spraying black oil all about.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The power is shut off and so is the light in its eyes. The motor's no longer humming.<br/>
<br/>
One second later Jack finds himself free falling with the giant mass of metal.<br/>
<br/>
<em>Only n</em><em>ow</em> does he look down to see the ground is rushing up towards him. Fast.<br/>
<br/>
He makes a face.<br/>
<br/>
He has two options: Driving his trident through the metal skin, burying it in deep and brace for impact, hoping the fall won't break his bones. Or he could jump from the robot right before it smashes the ground, reducing the brutal force of collision.<br/>
<br/>
Jack goes with the later.<br/>
<br/>
Should he close his eyes? Would it better to open them?<br/>
<br/>
Probably doesn't matter either way.<br/>
<br/>
Seeing that he is getting closer and closer to the ground, Jack lets go of his staff—this is going to be rocky enough without having to deal with a puncture wound—and jumps.<br/>
<br/>
He rolls for two good rounds on the ground before coming to a stop, lying on his back. Dust blows after him, clinging to his armor and hair. His massive steel shoulder pads are shattered to bits from the full impact with the ground. The next to go are his upper arm plates, leaving behind bleeding gashes and scratches on his now exposed arms. Other than all that, he is unharmed.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>After resting for a good moment, Jack lets out a groan and sits up. Retrieving his weapon, he then turns his attention <span>back </span>to the crash, which now is a heap of debris.<br/>
<br/>
What is it he <span>has </span>always said?<br/>
<br/>
<em>They are j</em><em>ust nuts and bolts.</em> He silently repeats.<br/>
<br/>
Walking back for his gatling gun, Jack spends a good minute to mourn the loss of his precious <span>vehicle</span>. Looking at the scraps of metal which was once his bike, he lets out a <span>sigh</span>. Putting his helmet on again, Jack bends down to pick up the rodents he caught for breakfast.<br/>
<br/>
And then, <em>it</em> appears.<br/>
<br/>
The once sunny day goes pitch <span>black</span> around him. Dark green mist spreads out on the ground, reaching his feet—Jack jumps back as if burned.<br/>
<br/>
A ghostly black silhouette appears before him. <span>The</span> Omen of Death in heavy Samurai armor, wielding a <span>long and </span>shiny sword that is waiting to do its duty.<br/>
<br/>
Jack doesn't move—it seems that he is <span>barely </span>even breathing. The once hardened warrior can only stare with mouth agape.<br/>
<br/>
An Omen with horns as twisted as Jack's soul. With glowing yellow eyes as glaring as his mistakes. With a steed that he cannot outrun.<br/>
<br/>
With a future he cannot accept.<br/>
<br/>
"No! I. . .I am not ready!" He is in terror now. Screaming, he <span>forgets</span> his meal and turns his back <span>to run, never to look back.</span><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Team up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Max opens his eyes and sees that he is flying. No, not exactly flying—floating in the air. His body feels as light as a feather, hovering just above the ground. A tilt of his body to the left and he's moving slowly, easily, in the air, toward the direction. Max looks at the ground below in amazement as he's getting used to this new sensation. A tree from afar slowly comes into view as it gets closer to him — no, he's getting closer to it. He concentrates, holding his breath a little as he straightens his legs and holds his arms out in front of him. A moment later he starts picking up speed, flying fast as if this is a second nature to him.</em><br/><br/><em>Max flies pass the wasteland in no time, leaving behind the madness of the Citadel. He is free – they can never catch up to him, use him again. He flies up the wind; cool breeze brushes against his skin, pulling at his hair, his clothes and it makes him grins with delight. He's found the ultimate way to travel: he can roam wherever, whenever he wants, for there's nothing to stop him.</em><br/><br/><em>Everything is just quiet up here. For the longest time there's no shouting, no screaming, no wailing – for him. He can just relax.</em><br/><br/><em>He finds a fountain. Max slows himself down to a stop, standing in mid air. Letting his mind focus on getting back down, he descends until his bare feet touch the ground lightly. For the first time in forever, his mind is at peace, as he treads the ground gracefully and free of care. He fetches a big cup from the side and fills it full to the brim with water from the fountain. He brings it to his lips and God – the water never tastes so sweet. The moment it touches his tongue he is certain that no water he ever drank could be this sweet, this good. It's almost enough to make him pause despite his dehydration — make him want to sit back and savor every drop of it.</em><br/><br/><em>Max guzzles the first cup in just three big gulps, not even stopping to breathe. Letting out a low groan of pleasure, his every sense comes alive as the cold, pure liquid fills every corner of his mouth, down his throat and into his stomach. He eagerly dips his cup into the fountain for more while licking his lips wet. He attacks this one just as fast, emptying it in just seconds. Water drips down from his chin, onto his chest and thighs but he pays it no mind. He lets the precious liquid run freely on his hot skin, cooling him down. It helps to clear his mind, refreshing him both inside and out, making him close his eyes as he shivers, almost overwhelmed by it.</em><br/><br/><em>Max bends down, wipping his arm across his mouth and filling the cup again, panting. He tilts his head back, drinking it down but this time in smaller gulps, for he intends to enjoy this moment for the longest time.</em><br/><br/><em>But something is wrong – the water keeps coming, running down his throat, never emptying. He feels his lungs tightening, demanding air, but he keeps drinking, drinking it all.</em><br/><br/><em>He's drowning. He tries to pull the cup away, but can't — it is caught in his mouth, down his throat, choking him. He gasps automatically, and the once sweet liquid now turns sour and bitter, gushing through his nose, pouring down over his face. He tries to get away, but hands from nowhere catch him, holding him down, paralyzing him.</em><br/><br/><em>He screams, bubbles rising before him as he flails in the liquid, fighting for air, fighting against the rough hands that are grabbing at him.</em><br/><br/><em>Something pricks at the back of his neck – a needle. His eyes widen in terror as he realizes he is back in </em> <em> <b>that room </b> </em> <em>again, letting himself be claimed again like some kind of property without any of his consent. The needle now comes in thousands, plunging to his flesh like fire, running over his back as its hooks penetrate deeper and deeper into his bones.</em><br/><br/><em>Panic rises in his throat, bile mixing with the fluid that is drowning him but he keeps screaming soundlessly, choking on his own lungs. He writhes, fighting tooth and nail to pull away, but he can't. Can't even twitch a finger. But somehow he can see them, see their unconcerned face, see their unfeeling eyes looking at him as they pick at him, owning him.</em></p><p>
  <em>. . . .</em>
</p><p><br/>A jolt startles Max awake. Eyes shooting open, he jerks upright too fast he's reeling. Sweat beads on his brows as his eyes dart around, adjusting to the light—no, he is not under the unforgiving sun anymore. The heat is no longer here to drive him mad and desperate. He is lying in a car—in someone's car, as his head and back were resting uncomfortably against the door, legs stretched out on the seat. This feels nice, however alarming. Max turns to face his captor, ready to put up a fight only to recognize the lone man from before sitting in the front seat, watching him quietly from the rearview mirror.<br/><br/>"So you're not dead. I was thinking if I should throw you out." The old man said in a gruff, baritone voice. His eyebrows knitted together in a frown, but it is no longer directed at Max as he focuses on the road again.<br/><br/>So he was saved. Max relaxes a hair, allowing his heart to slow down. <em>Damn dreams. </em>They never do him any good. Leaning forward on the seat, Max clutches his heat-damaged hair tightly and runs his fingers over his feverish skin, only to be interrupted by the goddamn muzzle again. He scowls, mumbling something vague. <em>At least I'm getting out of the desert</em>. Looking out of the window to see how far he's gone, Max notices something is wrong, because the old man is driving too fast; they nearly runs into a dead trunk.<br/><br/>A sense of dread spreads inside Max as he realizes they are being chased. As relieved as he was just seconds ago, a growing anxiety soon takes place, for he anticipates who is racing behind them.<br/><br/>Looking out of the rear window, he waits with bated breath to see their pursuer slowly emerge from the horizon. And just as he was afraid, a menacingly mutated monster truck is coming their way, riding on it are five of the War Boys. They carry enough guns and explosives to take care of both of them, but Max knows they won't do that. They'd try to get close and destroy their vehicle to capture them – capture <em>him </em>again.<br/><br/>And he would be damned if he lets that happen the second time.<br/><br/>"I knew I shouldn't have brought you along. I could literally smell trouble on you." The guy said grouchily over the loud roar of his old vehicle. Still, he drives.<br/><br/>The ones in pursuit open fire – a bullet hits the dirt behind them, making a loud thudding noise. It is followed by two and three more. Dust is kicked off the ground, creating hazes that linger shortly before being blown back by their speeding cars. Max dives down as more bullets fly pass the roof.<br/><br/>"I hope you know that I'm driving to save my damned car, not you." The old man tosses him his shotgun, also keeps his head low. "Here, don't do anything stupid." He is driving with abandon now. Another bullet passes by them and breaks the left side mirror into pieces. Max hears him swear.<br/><br/>Max counts only two slugs left in the gun before guiltily recalling when he shot his saver. How is he still sitting there driving is beyond Max. With a regretful eyes he watches the man in front of him, whose attention is undivided as he keeps his eyes on the road, his face shows no signs of pain, which is very odd. Max wonders how much blood the man has lost.<br/><br/>More bullets whiz through the air, making sharp thwacking sounds when hitting rocks on the two sides. It's obvious that their attackers is getting closer, for they're only about half a kilometre behind them now. Max wants to tell the old man to drive faster, but he also knows that their vehicle is no match for the superior engine of that monster truck.<br/><br/>The War Boys keeps firing, making a ruckus behind them with their shouts of battle cry. "BLOOD BAGS!" One of them screams in a screeching voice. The mad nomad bares his teeth, holding the gun close to his chest, keeping low.<br/><br/>Two bullets slam into their car trunk, leaving two holes on the surface. Max's fellow traveler swears again, his face shows irritation more than anything else.<br/><br/>"What are you waitin' for? Shoot now before they blow up the gas tank!" He drives insanely, turning left then right to avoid the lines of bullet.<br/><br/><em>Not yet. Keep driving.</em><br/><br/>The pursuers shatter their rear window, taking away their one and only cover, just like Max would count on them to do.<em> Perfect – </em>he wouldn't have to break it down himself in order to retaliate, he is too exhausted for that.<br/><br/>They only have two slugs in the shotgun, which will not be enough in order to kill all five of them. Max is waiting for the War Boys to pull out their spear-mounted grenades. That's when he'd shoot back. What they need to do right now is to keep the car running, to maintain a distance between them and the War Boys. What Max needs to do is to wait for the right moment to shoot; when the enemies are close enough for his double-seeing eyes to aim right, but not too close or they might be blown off to nevermore.<br/><br/>As he predicted, the shooting has ceased considerably. They've realized they are wasting their precious bullets away. Still, the road warrior doesn't act. He just needs to wait for a little more, he knows that they are trying to get close to use their explosives. <em>Just a little more. </em>He mentally chants as yet another bullet hits the tail light of the car, breaking it. <em>Just a little more.</em><br/><br/>Suddenly the dizziness comes back in full force, accompanying it is the nauseous feeling. Max has to hold both his hands out to keep his balance. His whole body is trembling from weakness while his vision goes fuzzy and black for a few seconds. Finally he goes limp on the back seat as he passes out from severe dehydration.<br/><br/>"They are getting close! You might wanna hit it now!" His driver is growling at him, waking him up, but his voice sounds so far, far away. It takes all of Max's strength just to get up. The fever is burning him from inside out.<br/><br/>Sensing silence from Max for too long his companion turns around regarding him worryingly.<br/><br/>"Hey, hey! Yer not gonna pass out now bub."<br/><br/><em>I just did. </em>He wheezes out short labored breaths.<br/><br/>The man grabs Max on the shoulder to shake him awake, encouraging him to pick the gun up, which he does.<br/><br/><em><b>THEW!</b></em><br/><br/>"Argh!"<br/><br/>The bullet hits the guy's hand, making him jerk back automatically.<br/><br/><em>Shit!</em><br/><br/>Max eyes widen in surprise. The guy's hand is drawing blood. Still, he keeps it on the steering wheel and races away like nothing happened.<br/><br/><em>How. . .</em><br/><br/><em><b>Boom!</b></em><br/><br/>Here comes the explosive spears.<br/><br/>Max looks up from his seat carefully – he scouts two lancers carrying the spear-grenade, standing far apart from each other as they scream nonsense about chrome and Valhalla. These fucking loonies are the reason for the end of his beloved Interceptor. Griping the gun firmly in his shaking hands, Max swears to take his revenge.<br/><br/>Pulling off the safety, he takes aim at one of the explosives. With a breath and a blink of an eye he opens fire.<br/><br/>However, what follows the thundering sound of his double barrel shotgun isn't an explosion. He missed.<br/><br/>Letting out an angry snarl, Max forces his tired eyes to focus once more, for this is their last shot. Behind his back, the old man is trying his best to keep the car steady for him despite his injury.<br/><br/>The sons-of-bitches are aiming for their back wheels. Leveling his gun again with a determined stare, Max pulls the trigger with a reverberating bang – just before their weapon is thrown.<br/><br/>A violent and destructive blast shatters the air. Max ducks, but not before he hears the screams of the War Boys as they are burning, falling, dying.<br/><br/><em>Serve 'em right.</em><br/><br/>His driver grimaces at the smell of burning flesh and metal. "Great shot, but two are still alive." He said tersely.<br/><br/>Indeed they are, for the chase continues. Casting the gun aside, the former policeman truly realizes how dire his situation has gotten. If he somehow doesn't get captured by them again, he wouldn't last long out here either. He is feeling fainter every minute – it won't be long before he'd black out again, and this time maybe for good. Lying back heavily on the seat, Max tries to grasp on consciousness as he fixes his gaze on the back of the other's head, who is trying to save their lives, no – his own life, to be exact.<br/><br/><em>Sorry for dragging you into this.</em><br/><br/><em><b>Boom!</b></em><br/><br/>Someone's swearing.<br/><br/><em>Thu—Thump. . .Thu—Thump. . .</em><br/><br/>Max's heart pounds loud in his own ears. Can't focus. He lets his eyes fall close—<br/><br/>"We will get out of here yet." The old man rasps.<br/><br/>—and opens them again.<br/><br/>The guy is shot twice for Christ's sake. <em>How is he still driving?</em><br/><br/><em>Thu—Thump. . .</em><br/><br/>"Hghrr..." Max's no longer sweating—there's not a drop of water left in his body at this point. But he can't die like this, he's a survivor.<br/><br/>He's got to get away. . . somehow. . .<br/><br/><em>Thu—Thump.</em><br/><br/>Only now does he spot a few sacks of vegetables lying by his feet. Mustering up all his strength Max reaches out to open one, which reveals dozens of sweet ripe tomatoes inside.<br/><br/><em>This is. . .</em><br/><br/>Suddenly the earth shakes violently beneath them. The ground is moving, breaking into two and the noise is like thunder only worse because the vibration are coming from below. The earthquake sends them tumbling. But there's also something else underneath the ground – something in vast number, for Max hears their eerie cries, many upon many, echoing through the deep gap.<br/><br/>"What the flaming hell?"<br/><br/><em>. . .the Moloids.</em><br/><br/>Scrambling forward, Max grabs the steering wheel. With one hand he takes a sharp turn to the left just in time before the ground opens up from under them, swallowing everything whole. Only now does his companion register what is happening, as Max sees him whip around to see hundreds of small, hideous creatures crawling out from the bottomless pit: they have caught the big truck, climbing it, tearing at it hungrily with their skinless fingers.<br/><br/>"Holy shit!"<br/><br/>In just seconds, their hunters disappear—pulled underground.<br/><br/>Max also turns around, but what is left behind them now is a giant gaping hole. A chill goes through him as he hears a distant cry from deep, deep down below. . .<br/><br/>They run in silence. They still keep an ear out for another earthquake, but nothing ever comes.<br/><br/>"I freakin' hate aliens." The grey haired man grumbles after some time.<br/><br/>Somehow during the frenzy they've made it out of the desert in one piece. Max pays his attention back to the vegetables. Despite the old man's protest, he tears open a sack of green beans. Clutching a big raw tomato in one hand and a handful of beans in the other, Max smiles to himself. <em>Maybe today isn't so bad.</em></p>
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